Want You Bad
by rita hayworth
Summary: "I think you know what I'm going to say—don't try and stop me or interrupt me — but I think you're great, Sybil." Sybil sighed resignedly; she didn't want Tom to ruin their wonderful friendship. Sybil/Branson modern AU.


**A/N**: This is a modern AU short story. It's not to be taken seriously. I originally wrote it as a companion to my modern AU vidlet which can be found here:

www[.]youtube[.]com/watch?v=lNvqFDCC7G8

Also, this is rated T for sexual content, but since nothing here is explicit or ~lemony, I couldn't bring myself to give it an M rating. But you have been warned.

* * *

><p><strong>Want You Bad<strong>

He had towed her car; that was how they'd met. When he saw the worn-out copy of _The Feminine Mystique _she had tucked beneath her arm, he'd asked her about her politics. They talked for what seemed like hours, sitting in the old tow truck outside of the garage. It wasn't until she realized the time that she remembered they hadn't taken her car in yet. Laughing, he walked off and told his boss that they had a new automobile to service.

A week later he called her, mainly to tell her that her car was ready to be picked up, but also that he'd like to see her again. It had all happened so fast; before she knew it, she was waking up in his apartment, her eyes blinking in the bright sunlight. He had no curtains.

"Good mornin'," he said, his Irish accent more evident in his morning grogginess. "How'd you sleep?"

"Fine," she responded, her voice deep and raspy. "And you?"

He leaned back, a cocky smile falling on his lips. "I slept great," he told her, smugness evident in his voice. Then, as he extended his hand, he said, "I'm Tom, by the way. Tom Branson."

Sybil smiled, her hand falling into place in his brawny one. "Sybil," she told him.

xxx

It had started off simply enough—Sybil, a first-year university student, had just wanted to make her parents angry. Tom, a college dropout whose father was a member of the IRA, was the perfect man for the job.

In the middle of family dinner, she would put her fork back down on the delicate china, and inform her parents—_Lord_ and _Lady_ Grantham as they preferred—that she would be off to Tom's, and that they shouldn't wait up for her. They'd protested, put up a fight at first, but Sybil was eighteen, her own woman, and there was nothing they could do about it. But their distaste was evident, and Sybil reveled in it.

Tom didn't care what Sybil's reasons were; he merely enjoyed her company. His flatmate—a man whose kookiness contrasted sharply with Tom's level-headed personality—was always in and out of their place, and Sybil provided a steadiness that Tom had always yearned for. It wasn't long before he found himself falling in love with her, this young woman whom he knew nothing about. Yet he knew he wanted to know more.

One morning, after Sybil had spent the night, Tom prepared breakfast. He liked cooking for her; it allowed him to imagine the future they could have. Sybil, for her part, smiled, laughed at Tom's jokes, and even tolerated his flatmate.

"These eggs are delicious," she told him, closing her eyes as she chewed them, her lips moving in tandem with her bites. "Really, Tom. I can't cook to save my life."

Tom chuckled. "It isn't that hard. Only you've got to have some skills with a spatula."

Sybil smiled, putting her fork down. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Tom's flatmate burst into the kitchen, one of his godforsaken tabloid magazines gripped in his hands. Tom could never understand why he enjoyed those rubbish articles so much.

"Hello, Sybil," he greeted, taking a seat next to her. He was immersed in his magazine, barely glancing up. "Tom—look—it says Lady Mary Crawley is engaged to Sir Richard Carlisle. He's a little old for her, wouldn't you say?"

"I don't care about the lives of those snooty, stuffy people," Tom said quickly, a tone of disgust entering his voice. Sybil froze, unsure of what to do. "Lady Mary's probably only marrying him for his money. That's what she was raised to do after all."

"Lady Mary is my sister."

A silence fell upon the two males in the room, both of their eyes turning into saucers. It was widely known that there were three Crawley sisters, but Lady Mary was the only one seen or spoken of. "You're—you're—" Tom's flatmate struggled to find the right words.

"A lady?" Tom finished, astonished.

"'Lady' is such a pretentious title," responded Sybil. "It's titles like those allow the social gap to remain in place. I've not used it since I was a child." She then took her knife and sliced her eggs, stuffing them into her mouth nonchalantly, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

"Well," Tom's flatmate declared, "Blow me. Christ almighty."

Sybil stood up abruptly, eyeing her leather bag before picking it up. She quickly shrugged on her thick motorbike jacket before turning to Tom. "I should be going. I've got an early class today."

Tom walked her out. Silence surrounded them. In his mind, Tom was going through all the possible ways to apologize for insulting Sybil's sister. It still surprised him that through all the times he'd brought up the meaninglessness of the aristocracy, Sybil had never once spoken up, never once told him she was one of him.

"I'm sorry," he said finally, once they had reached the car. "For what I said about your sister—about your lot. Only you never told me—"

"They're not my 'lot,'" Sybil interrupted, her voice soft and understanding. She knew Tom's politics, his ideas. She wasn't surprised by things he said, only hurt. "Until now, you didn't even fathom that I was a lady. If I'm just like you—normal—how can I be part of their lot?"

Tom marveled at her—he'd blatantly insulted her sister and yet she was forgiving him with ease. "Well, I am sorry, Sybil."

She smiled, looking up at him from underneath her dark, wild bangs. "I know." And then she leaned forward and kissed him, her soft, warm lips pressing against his. He smiled against it, thinking about how easily she fell into his life. After she pulled away, she said her goodbyes. Tom wanted nothing more than to tell her how he felt—but there was a doubt, an insecurity in his mind telling him that she didn't feel the same way. He watched her, eyes steady, as she started her car and drove away. Tom smiled to himself; he knew it wouldn't be long before she came back.

And then, maybe, he'd tell her.

xxx

"You can't be serious." Mary's voice was stern, serious. Sybil rolled her eyes; she knew her eldest sister had been through a lot recently—with Matthew and Richard—but she really didn't care to be lectured at the moment. "Sybil, his father's in the IRA."

"And?" Sybil asked petulantly. "His father's in the IRA, not him. Really, Mary, this is so disappointing of you. You, of all people, should know not to judge people before you know them."

"I've never gone after someone Mama and Papa so blatantly disapprove of," Mary countered austerely. "Really, Sybil, we all know the reason you're doing this: to make our parents angry."

"Oh, sod off, Mary." Sybil was exasperated. "You don't know anything."

"I know that you're throwing your life away for this boy."

Sybil laughed sardonically. "What life? This is the twenty-first century, Mary. People don't care about titles now…only the people who have them do. I'm no different from Tom, or anyone else, for that matter."

Mary simply shook her head sadly before walking away, leaving to Sybil to go

xxx

"She was just so _rude_ about it all," moaned Sybil, her face falling into her hands. "I would've expected it from Mama and Papa—maybe even Edith—but never from _Mary_. Life deals everyone different hands I thought she, of all people, would realize that."

Tom nodded his head. He'd heard about Lady Mary's troubles through his flatmate, and it made sense to him. Lady Mary was judged every day by the press and the tabloids—why should she do the same thing? "I suppose she's just looking out for your best interests," Tom suggested, hoping that Sybil wouldn't agree with him.

"That's just the thing," said Sybil. "She doesn't know my best interests. Only I know them."

A small smile grew on Tom's lips—did she just say that he was in her best interests? He hoped so. "Sybil," he began slowly, leaning towards her. Sybil instantly pulled back, biting her lip. She was unsure of what to do—she recognized the sentimental tone in Tom's voice, and she wasn't particularly fond of it.

"Tom—"

"Look," he said, cutting her off. He ran a frustrated hand across his head, his short hair poking through his fingers. "I think you know what I'm going to say—don't try and stop me or interrupt me—but I think you're great, Sybil."

Sybil sighed resignedly. Tom was her best friend—with the occasional added bonus of sexual pleasure—and she'd hate for him to ruin their friendship.

"I love you."

There it was. Sybil felt sick; she wanted to vomit. Backing away from Tom, she said, "I—I have to go."

Tom knew he shouldn't have said it, but he couldn't have gone on much longer without telling her how he felt. He watched her retreat with sad, longing eyes, as her petite figure left his flat. A feeling of deject washed over him, replaying the scene in his head. Her eyes were frightened as he told her his feelings, but she hadn't denied her own feelings. She just hadn't admitted them. Perhaps Sybil, with all rebelliousness, was afraid of her own feelings.

xxx

It had been seven days since she'd last been to see Tom. Seven days since his confession. Sybil wished she could go to Tom's, but her pride wouldn't allow her to. And that was how she found herself driving home for dinner.

It had started to snow, and the roads were slick with ice. Sybil drove slowly, carefully, as she wasn't the best driver. She tried to focus all of her concentration on the road, but her mind kept travelling to Tom's hurt face as she left his place.

It all happened very quickly; she rounded a turn too fast, skidding off the road, her tires screeching in response. Her car hit an old, dying tree with a thud, causing the airbags to inflate. Sybil's head came forward, smashing into them. When she pulled back, she saw blood.

Her forehead bruised and her nose bleeding, Sybil maneuvered her way out of the wrecked car. It was a miracle that she'd gotten out of it unscathed. Surveying the scene, she realized she had only one person to call.

xxx

Tom was working in the garage when he'd gotten the call. As usual, his mind never strayed far from Sybil. It'd been torture this past week, trying not to text or call her. He figured that she needed her space, and that she'd call when he was ready. So when he saw her name flash across his caller ID, a smile spread across his lips.

"Hey," he answered, breathless.

"Tom, hi," Sybil responded, talking fast. He could tell she was nervous, agitated. "Look, I need your help. I've been in an accident and—"

"_What_?" Tom could feel his heartbeat accelerate. If she was hurt…

"It's not bad," Sybil said quickly. "Well, it is, but I'm okay. But my car isn't."

"Tell me where you're at." Tom was already walking towards the tow truck, keys in hand as she told him the coordinates of her location."

It'd taken him thirty minutes, more or less, to reach Sybil's countryside location. As he drove up, he could see the wreckage—her car was wrapped around a tree, and she was standing in front of it, tears staining her cheeks. He jumped out of the truck as fast as he could, rushing to her side.

"Are you alright?" he asked, setting his hand against her leather-clad arm. Sybil nodded, a few tears escaping her eyes. Tom brought a hand up to her soft face, brushing the stray tears away.

"I can't go home," Sybil told him, her voice soft, unsteady. "Mama and Papa will kill me. I'll pay for the car myself—"

Tom didn't have the heart to tell that he didn't think her car was salvageable. Instead, he told her that he'd see what they could do, and that she was welcome to stay with him for the night.

Sybil stayed at the garage while he worked, watching him pull up his sleeves and repair cars. There was something inescapably attractive about Tom—especially when he worked on cars.

When they'd reached Tom's flat, Sybil, without decorum, threw herself at him. The emotional turmoil of the past week had taken a toll on her, and all she wanted was to be held by someone who cared about her. That someone being Tom.

He kissed her back fiercely, melting his body against her. In tandem, they both slammed against the wall, his hands groping for her hemline. Suddenly, all their clothes were on the floor, and they were falling unceremoniously onto Tom's mattress.

xxx

When Sybil awoke, she found herself wrapped in Tom's arms. The warmth of his naked body encircled hers, and Sybil found a feeling of comfort in it. She felt the weight of his body shift slightly as he woke up, his eyes fluttering open. A leisurely, sleepy smile spread across his lips as he looked at Sybil. "Hi," he said, happiness making its way through his grogginess.

"Hi," echoed Sybil. Involuntarily, she smiled. Tom leaned over, kissing her lips affectionately. Sybil was surprised to find that she didn't mind. When he leaned back into his pillows, Sybil began to get up.

Tom watched her, a small smile on his face, as she gathered up her layers of clothing and began to put them on. In his eyes, she was perfect, in every way. From her body to her ideals and her heart. There wasn't anything he didn't like about her.

When Sybil had finished dressing, she turned to him. "Would you mind taking me home?" she asked him. Tom sat up; it was the first time she'd ever asked him to drive her home.

"Of course," answered Tom happily. He reveled in the fact that she was slowly allowing him into her life, slowly but surely. A content chuckle escaped his lips.

"What?" Sybil asked, smiling.

Tom shook his head, yet answered. "I think you're in love with me," he told her, his voice smug. After the night they'd had last night, he was sure of it. "You're just afraid to admit it."

Sybil sighed. "Don't badger me, Tom," she told him. She wished desperately that he would just drop the subject. She simply wasn't a relationship girl. Mary and Edith were, but she wasn't. "_Please_."

Tom nodded, dropping the subject. He would drive her home, be a good friend. But he knew now—without a doubt—that she would come around.

xxx

Sybil sat alone, working on an essay for her Women's History class. It was a subject she was interested in, and she was almost done with essay. Yet her mind kept drifting to Tom. It was his day off, but they hadn't seen each other. She told him that she would be busy with her schoolwork—which was the truth—and he didn't argue with her.

As she finished her essay, she decided that she would ring him. She wanted to hear his voice, listen to him as he spoke about the world and their role in it. She just _felt_ like talking to him.

She called his cell phone, but he didn't answer. It was odd; he'd never let a call from her go to voicemail. So she called the line to his flat. Sybil was surprised to hear his flatmate answer.

"Hi, Conor," she greeted, her voice upbeat. "It's Sybil. Is Tom there?"

"Erm, Sybil," his flatmate began with trepidation. "Well, actually…Tom's out right now."

"Oh." Sybil couldn't hide her surprise. She'd almost forgotten that he did have a life without her. "Where is he?"

"He's out," he continued to tell her. "He's, um, out with a friend, actually. Olivia. Nice girl, nice girl."

"_Oh_." Sybil felt as though she'd been hit with a ton of bricks. He was out with another girl. A girl who was not her. "Well, bye."

"Wait—"

It was an awkward goodbye, much like the entire conversation, and Sybil couldn't hang up more quickly. She didn't quite know what to do with herself, so she laid down in her bed, and tried to fall asleep. It was fitful; she rolled around, trying get comfortable. It was impossible; thoughts of Tom and another girl ran through her mind. She resolved that in the morning, she would go see him.

xxx

She stood outside of his flat for what seemed like hours. In reality, it was a few mere minutes. Sybil wondered why she had made herself come; she'd surely be tortured by the image of Tom with another woman. A woman lying in the bed which Sybil usually occupied.

Finally, she found the confidence to knock on the door. It wasn't long before the door opened, and Tom was revealed, fully dressed. He smiled he saw her. "Well, good morning."

Sybil managed a smile, but on the inside she was nervous. "Hey," she told him. "Can I come in?"

"Of course." He opened the door further, allowing her to step underneath his arm and inside. "I wasn't expecting to see you this morning."

Sybil nodded. "I know. It's just—I called you last night, and you didn't answer. And Conor told me that you were out with a girl.

Ah, Tom knew where this was going. Sybil was jealous.

"And I know I've no right to you," continued Sybil, breaking her eye contact with Tom. "In fact, I've treated you horribly, so you should move on."

"Sybil," Tom interrupted, his smile growing wider. "Olivia's not—"

"It doesn't matter," Sybil told him.

"It _does_ matter," insisted Tom as he stepped closer towards her. "Olivia's my sister-in-law. She was in London on business, and decided to pay me a visit. It didn't mean anything."

He was only a few inches from her as Tom finished his statement. Sybil didn't know what to do or say; she'd been completely wrong in her assumptions. "_Oh_," she finally managed.

"Oh," Tom repeated. It was very clear that he was enjoying their exchange.

Sybil laughed ruefully. "Well, I've gone and made a fool of myself, haven't I?"

Tom shook his head, grinning. "No, you haven't. And, in case you need anymore assurance—you're the girl for me, Sybil. The _only_ girl for me."

His words made her feel something that she'd never felt for any man before. Perhaps, the strong bond of friendship she felt for him had always been something more. And all this time, she'd been mistaking her love for a strong friendship. "Maybe you right, earlier," Sybil admitted sheepishly. "When you said I was afraid of my own feelings."

"Maybe?"

Sybil chuckled. "No, you were right," she confirmed. "About everything."

Tom leaned forward and kissed her softly. He didn't want to gloat in his rightness but he didn't want to ignore it, either. So he smiled, albeit smugly, against her lips. It only grew wider when he felt her smiling back.

When they finished, Tom lead Sybil to the kitchen. "Would you like something for breakfast?" he asked Sybil, rifling through the pantry.

Sybil sat herself down at the table. A content smile spread across her lips as she watched Tom. "I would love that."

xxx


End file.
